


Survivors Stick Together

by 97adrenochrome97



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Cabin, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Gore, Log Cabin, M/M, Male Friendship, Mountains, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, forest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-05 16:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/97adrenochrome97/pseuds/97adrenochrome97
Summary: Ryan and Pete live alone in a secluded cabin in the woods; hiding away from the zombies that wander their silent world. Since the outbreak it’s always just been the two of them – but when Pete brings home an injured stranger, Ryan realizes everything is about to change.





	1. "It's Brendon, I think."

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of an old story that I'm editing - so it's not as long as some of my other ones. But hopefully you enjoy regardless!

Ryan looked out the cabin window, across the barren wasteland of chopped down trees that made up the countryside around him. The glass was cold as he pressed his forehead against it, misting it up with his breath. He shivered. The weather was starting to get cold – and they couldn’t light the fire anymore. The smoke attracted too much attention.

_Why was Pete taking so long?_ He glanced behind him, watching for movement out the back window, but he couldn’t see much for the trees. The cabin was situated right at the forest's border, where behind it the trees went on for miles and ahead you could see right over to the distant mountains. Somewhere at the foot of those mountains was the deserted city.

It was so quiet up here. It was the quiet that Ryan hated most. And the loneliness. That’s why he usually went with Pete on his fruitless searches for survivors, but today Pete had persuaded him to stay. Something about him needing to get some rest.

‘I get enough rest,’ Ryan had said. ‘What is there to do out here but sleep?’

It was true there wasn’t much to do, but Ryan didn’t get much sleep. Insomnia was a survival technique he couldn’t train himself out of. Pete was just the same, but he still tried to keep up the pretense of making Ryan rest by going off on his own all the time. He was strange, Pete – he could get Ryan to do whatever he wanted just by asking, and by the time Ryan realized it wasn’t what he _himself_ wanted, Pete was long gone. Like the quiet, Pete was something Ryan had just had to learn to live with.

Pete had left sometime in the morning, and it was creeping towards afternoon by the time Ryan had resorted to slumping against the window, letting his forehead go numb. He’d spent most of the day pacing around, keyed up, clicking his fingers. He used to talk to himself, hum to himself – but he didn’t want to make too much noise.

The sudden sound of the door crashing open made Ryan jump so violently he unbalanced his chair, and had to clumsily stumble to his feet, grabbing the nearest kitchen utensil for protection. It was okay though. It was only Pete, at long last.

‘What are you planning to do with that?’ Pete said breathlessly, eyeing the spatula in Ryan’s hand. Ryan didn’t respond, frozen to the spot. Pete wasn’t alone. A strange guy’s arm was looped over his shoulder, head hanging. 

‘Who’s that?’ Ryan asked, taking a step back. Sometimes Pete was all bravado and no brains. He was in love with the idea of saving people, helping people, being that light in the darkness – but he didn’t always think things through.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Pete said, rolling his eyes. ‘He’s a fellow survivor.’

‘You sure about that?’ Ryan took in the guy’s skinny limbs, pale skin, blood-spattered clothes. His head still hung forward, dark brown hair covering his face. Ryan wasn’t sure if he was even still conscious.

‘What, you don’t trust my judgement?’ Pete sighed. ‘Have I ever been wrong before?’

‘You’ve never brought home a so-called survivor before.’

‘So have I ever been wrong?’ Pete said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Exactly. No. Come on, what was I supposed to do? He would have died out there. I made a snap judgement and you’re not going to make me feel guilty about it. Here, give me a hand.’

The guy had just enough consciousness to stand, but as Ryan considered Pete’s request, the guy lost that last shred of control and his legs buckled. Pete started to buckle with him and Ryan had no choice but to help. Together they laid the guy out on the floor.

‘Thanks,’ Pete said, freeing himself of the guys arm. ‘I gotta get a drink.’

Ryan stared down at the guy on the floor. He was medium height, slim, arms and legs sticking out at slightly unnatural angles. He had ordinary dark clothing, built up in sensible layers. A denim jacket over a hooded sweatshirt. He had floppy brown hair that looked like it would get in his eyes a lot. His eyes were closed, and though his pale face was speckled in blood, he looked relatively peaceful.

Ryan still didn’t trust him, but then he didn’t trust anyone anymore. Some days not even Pete.

‘He’s fine,’ Pete said, from across the room. ‘He’s harmless, Ryan.’

‘Where’d you find him?’

‘Down kind of near the city’ Pete replied. He’d poured himself a glass of water from one of the bottles in the cupboard, and now he hastily closed the cupboard door, not letting Ryan see. It was stupid. Ryan knew how little they had. He was just trying not to think about it until he had to.

‘Did you see anything?’ Ryan asked. ‘I mean… what did it look like?’

‘The city?’ Pete shrugged. ‘Seemed deserted to me, but I didn’t get that close.’

‘Good.’

Pete grinned, the way he always did in a difficult situation. ‘You know we’ll have to go back there sometime, right?’

Ryan sighed and looked at the guy spread crookedly at their feet.

‘That’s just one more mouth to feed, you know.’

‘Well I’ll eat less then,’ Pete said, irritated again. ‘Seriously, you’re saying you would have just left him to die? It’s safer to stick in a group.’

‘Yeah, and look how that worked out last time,’ Ryan muttered, but there was no point in trying to get Pete to see reason. The guy didn’t look in a very good state, so they’d have to wait until he woke up to see how useful he’d be. But chances were, looking at him, he wouldn’t make it through the night. Which meant he wouldn’t be their problem much longer.

‘Alright,’ Pete said, as if he hadn’t heard. ‘Come on, let’s move him onto the couch.’

But as they both took a hold of the guy’s arms, he suddenly stirred awake, protesting. Ryan recoiled cautiously, but Pete knelt down.

‘We’re just trying to move you somewhere more comfortable.’

The guy’s eyes remained closed, but he shook his head slightly, then in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, he said, ‘It’s fine.’

‘Fine?’

‘Fine… on the floor.’

Pete gave Ryan a look, and Ryan shrugged. _He said he was fine, why question it?_

‘Were you attacked?’ Pete asked tentatively. Again, the guy shook his head.

‘It was… a long time ago. I’m… fine now.’

The constant reassurances that he was ‘fine’ was starting to make Ryan nervous. It was almost as if this guy had something to hide.

‘Are you hungry?’ Pete asked. Another shake of the head.

‘Do you want a drink?’ 

Ryan thought about how scarce their water supply was, but bit his tongue. His practicality often came off as heartless, and he couldn’t face getting into an argument with Pete. The guy considered the question longer, eyes still shut.

‘I don’t know…’ he said after a little while. ‘Maybe…’

‘Good, I’ll get you a drink,’ Pete said, ignoring Ryan’s look as he climbed back to his feet. So Pete wanted to play doctor with this incapacitated stranger, who could be a threat their lives. Ryan wasn’t happy about it, but there was nothing he could do. He let Pete coax the guy into drinking, before letting him slip back out of consciousness. Ryan just stared out the back window, looking for signs of movement among the trees.

*

Something was wrong when Ryan woke up the next morning. He didn’t notice straight away, there was just a feeling. At least he’d slept, if only a little. He was halfway out of bed before realizing what had unsettled him. No chattering or laughing in the next room, no inconsiderate wake-up call, just because of boredom. Pete was gone.

He quickly left the bedroom, pausing only once to study their fellow survivor, who’d barely moved since yesterday. Ryan stepped quickly over him, towards the front door. There was a note stuck to it, scribbled with a pen that was running out of ink.

_I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on our new friend._

Ryan sighed deeply and turned back around. This was typical Pete: drag the guy in, dump him, and then leave Ryan to deal with it. And Ryan was tired of being left alone all the time. What made Pete more qualified to go out there than him? Well, that was just it. Ryan was afraid – and however much he should be, Pete wasn’t.

Today the eerie quiet was interrupted by the soft melody of dripping outside. It had been raining all night, Ryan had heard it drumming on the roof every time he woke from a dream. He really should be getting more sleep than he was. He was really starting to feel it. But he couldn’t now – not while he had their prisoner to watch.

_He’s not a prisoner,_ a voice reminded. _He’s just a fellow survivor._

Ryan nervously snapped his fingers, staring at the guy on the floor. He’d shifted from his back to his side during the night, and Ryan couldn’t tell if he was breathing anymore. He bit his lip, wondering if he should pretend he cared by checking. He stood still for a moment longer and then forced himself to move. Edging cautiously round the table, trying to make out the guy’s face. _Was he still breathing?_ Ryan couldn’t tell. He had to go closer He took another step and gently nudged the guy with his foot. 

He was still alive. So that was okay then. So long as he stayed asleep Ryan could tolerate him being there. Better to let him die on Pete’s watch and give him another taste of reality. Show him again that he couldn’t save everyone, show that they were better off alone.

Ryan turned to walk away and the guy’s hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. His flight instincts kicked in instantly, but the guy’s grip was surprisingly strong. Ryan stumbled and fell, headlong. Then kicking his way free, he rolled and flew up again, throwing his back against the nearest wall. 

But the guy wasn’t staggering to his feet, eyes half closed and glazed, intent on ripping Ryan to pieces. He was lying on his back again, half smiling.

‘Sorry,’ he said, his voice hoarse. He could probably do with another drink, but after the ankle-grabbing stunt Ryan wasn’t feeling particularly generous.

‘Don’t look… so scared,’ the guy said, still smiling. ‘Couldn’t… move if… I wanted to.’

‘I’m not scared,’ Ryan said coldly. That was true. He wasn’t scared anymore, he was irritated.

‘Okay,’ the guy said. He tried lifting an arm, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. ‘So… where am I?’

‘Does it matter?’ Ryan said flatly. He turned to the nearest cupboard, and picked a glass off the unit. They were down to their last bottle of water. ‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’

‘I… suppose.’

What should he do? Their supplies were barely enough for him and Pete. They couldn’t let this guy stay with them. Maybe it would be easier to get rid of him before Pete got back.

‘Do you want a drink?’ Ryan found himself saying. They guy just nodded, eyes flickering. So Ryan poured one and knelt down, grabbing a clean rag from the drawer. Once he’d helped the guy drink, he dipped the rag into the remaining water and began sponging blood specs off the guy’s pale face. 

‘Thank… you,’ the guy said, after a minute. He offered Ryan another slightly wan smile. ‘You have… no idea how long… that’s been there.’

He seemed insistent on reminding Ryan that whatever had happened to him had happened a while ago, therefore he couldn’t possibly be a threat. Ryan wasn’t sure if he believed him yet. 

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Uh…’ That really got him. Ryan watched as the guy considered. 

‘It begins with a B…’ he said eventually. ‘It’s Brendon, I think…’

‘You don’t remember?’

Brendon smiled again, seeming to regain a little energy. ‘No one’s used it in a long time.’

_I don’t need to know your name anyway, because you are not going to be staying long,_ Ryan thought, though he had no clue how he was going to get rid of Brendon. The guy couldn’t walk, so obviously Ryan couldn’t just send him on his way. He would be devoured instantly and Ryan couldn’t be responsible for another death. He wouldn’t be able to bear it. Which was exactly why Brendon had to go now – before they both got too comfortable. Ryan couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.

Brendon was staring, and Ryan realized it had been quite a long time since either of them had spoken. He abruptly stopped sponging Brendon’s face; stood up and wrung the wet rag over the sink. The blood-tinted water crept towards the plug hole, gruesomely pink.

‘What’s your name?’ Brendon asked from the floor. He’d regained his breath control, and his voice sounded smooth and even. It would have been pleasant if Ryan hadn’t been finding it so jarringly surreal. He hadn’t heard anyone but Pete speak in so long.

‘It’s Ryan,’ he said flatly.

‘Ryan…’ Brendon said, testing it out. ‘Okay.’

_He thinks he’s safe at last…_ said a voice in Ryan’s head. _He thinks he’s finally found somewhere he can stay._

It was cruel of Ryan to perpetuate the charade: Brendon couldn’t stay. And the sooner he knew that the better. 

‘Do you need any help getting up?’ Ryan asked, tentatively.

‘No.’ Brendon’s eyes fluttered shut, worn out.

‘You probably should get up though.’

‘Why?’ Brendon’s eyes snapped open again. ‘It’s not like I’m going to be going anywhere.’

‘No,’ Ryan said hesitantly, avoiding Brendon’s cool gaze. ‘But the quicker you’re up and about again the better. We’re in a survival situation.’

‘Don’t tell me how to survive,’ Brendon said, and his eyes closed again. ‘I know how to… stay alive if I want to…’

Ryan chewed his lip. He let a few seconds pass, then said, ‘Doesn’t look like you do.’

‘I said… if I want to.’ With an immense effort, Brendon heaved his dead looking limbs into action and rolled over onto his side, his back to Ryan. There he stayed, breathing laboriously until Ryan was sure he must be asleep.

Pete had been gone ages, but Ryan suddenly couldn’t bring himself to feel anxious about it. A wave of tiredness swept over him and he sat down on the floor, a few feet from Brendon.

‘What are you doing?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Go to bed…’

He lay down instead, his left arm pinned under him. He could feel it going numb within seconds, and his neck twinged when he rested his temple on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t felt this authentically tired since… since this whole thing had started. Since the bad times.

‘You decided you trust me then?’ Brendon mumbled, though he was still facing away from Ryan.

‘No…’ Ryan said, after a little while. Brendon didn’t respond, so maybe he didn’t hear. ‘Not yet…’

_Everything’s going to be different now…_ The thought came clearly into his head as he drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of Brendon's soft breathing.


	2. "Afternoon, Sunshine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time, but I promise more very soon... :)

Ryan was disorientated when he woke up. Instead of a bed, he was supported by hard flooring – and there was orange sunlight patterning the wall opposite. It was late in the day and he had no idea how long he’d slept. Normally every hour of the night was charted by anxious dreams and bored glances at the clock on the wall. Not that time meant much to them out there in forest.

Ryan struggled into a sitting position, and realised that Brendon had somehow moved himself. He was now in much closer proximity to Ryan, facing him, mouth obscured by one loosely curled hand. He was still asleep.

‘Morning, Sunshine.’

Pete was standing by the sink, grinning.

‘It’s not morning…’ Ryan muttered, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

‘I know it’s not,’ Pete said, and he crossed the floor, offering Ryan his hand. ‘I should say ‘Afternoon, Sunshine’. What the hell are you doing sleeping?’

‘I don’t know…’ Ryan said, letting Pete pull him to his feet. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Around lunchtime.’

‘So, a couple of hours ago? What time is it?’

Pete raised an eyebrow. ‘Yesterday.’

‘What?’

‘I got home lunchtime yesterday, Ryan. You’ve been sleeping for over twenty-four hours.’

Ryan felt cold, and he was taken back to the day of the outbreak, so many months before, when Pete had looked out of their apartment window and said, ‘Ryan, you’re going to want to see this…’ It was surreal, so surreal he almost didn’t believe it. He didn’t feel well rested – he felt scared and out of control.

‘What?’ he stammered stupidly, searching Pete’s face to see if he was kidding. ‘Why?’

‘What do you mean why? How should I know,’ Pete said, rolling his eyes.

‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’

‘You don’t think I tried? I did enough yelling and shaking to wake the dead.’ Pete cast a sudden uneasy glance at the door. When he turned back round he was smiling, but he’d lowered his voice. ‘Not literally obviously. Nothing happened while you were out. I figured you needed it.’

‘I shouldn’t have been sleeping,’ Ryan said, shaking his head. ‘It was careless. You left me in charge of our prisoner…’

‘You didn’t mention I was a prisoner,’ Brendon said suddenly, his voice strained and hoarse. He rolled slowly onto his back, looking stiff and uncomfortable. He caught Ryan’s eye, unblinking, hands resting on his stomach.

‘You’re not a prisoner, that’s why we didn’t mention it,’ Pete said. Ryan wasn’t listening. He watched Brendon shifting incrementally on the floor, wondering just what the guy had been up to while Ryan was out. And how much of an effect he’d had on Ryan’s lethargic state. Maybe it was presumptuous to assume he had anything to do with it, but Ryan had never experienced anything quite like this before, and the only new thing in his life since the outbreak was Brendon.

Ryan grabbed Pete’s arm and pulled him over to the sink to talk. 

‘What was Brendon doing?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When I was asleep.’

‘He was asleep too, for most of it.’ Pete paused, considering. ‘He talked some, but didn’t say much, if you get what I mean. Drank a little, but won’t eat. Why are you so concerned all of a sudden?’

‘I’m not concerned about his welfare, I’m concerned about what he’s up to,’ Ryan said, chewing his thumbnail. ‘I don’t trust him…’

‘You don’t trust anyone,’ Pete said dismissively. ‘Come on, what could he possibly do to you? He’s been here longer than twenty-four hours, so we know he’s not going to turn. And he’s still totally incapacitated. He can’t hurt us, what are you so afraid of?’

‘I’m not afraid, I just don’t trust him,’ Ryan muttered. ‘There’s a difference.’

Pete smiled wanly. ‘Get it together. You’re going to have to toughen up and start trusting my instincts when we go back out there.’

So that was it. Six months they’d fled the city, and Pete was ready to go back. He’d warned Ryan as much several times. _‘One day we’re going to have to go back and see who’s still alive, Ryan… The more of us the better.’_ But Ryan had been hoping that day was a lot further down the line. They weren’t ready to face what was out there yet, and Pete’s insistence that they were seemed like deep-rooted denial. There wasn’t enough of them, and there was never going to be because Ryan had learned to trust nobody but himself and Pete.

Pete saw Brendon as their ticket back to civilisation – Ryan saw him as a bad omen. He would have to go before Pete got too set on the idea.

‘You think you’d manage to stand, Brendon?’ Pete asked, raising his voice to show Ryan that their conversation was over. ‘You can’t lie there forever.’

This was only further proof that Pete planned on them leaving soon. First he would get Brendon back to a fit state, then he would insist there was no reason left to stay. He might even get Brendon to think he wanted to leave, and Pete would just be doing his duty and helping a fellow survivor get home.

‘Stand up?’ Brendon said, staring at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know, maybe…’

I’m sure you can,’ Pete said, meaning Brendon had to do it or face the consequences. ‘Come on, Ryan, give me a hand with him.’

Pete gently pulled at Brendon’s right arm, and Ryan took his right hand. Then together they helped him stagger to his feet. For the first time Brendon looked properly undead; eyes glazed, face pale, limbs dangling awkwardly. He couldn’t keep his head up without saying he felt dizzy, and the hand Ryan was holding was shaking.

He was a mess. That’s why Ryan was holding on. He had to. And then… Ryan himself began to feel strange and woozy. His vision blurred, and the room around him went soft-focus and wavy. Pete and Brendon’s voices were distorted, as if Ryan had just plunged underwater, and everything seemed to be going in slow motion. His limbs seemed suddenly too heavy for his body, but his head was so light it seemed to be drifting upwards.

Ryan’s free hand rose to his forehead, trying to keep his head from unscrewing itself from his neck. But the heaviness in his limbs spread to the rest of him, and his legs crumpled under the burden, and then he was falling down, down, down… 

Everything came back into sharp focus as soon as he let go of Brendon’s hand and then his head hit the floor, and for a second it all went black.

‘Ryan? Ryan, are you okay?’ 

He could here Pete’s voice but it sounded faraway. He found himself trying to move, spine bruising against the hard floor, and then he was upright again, forcing his eyes open. The room swirled hazily, and then slowly settled.

‘You okay?’ Pete was kneeling. Ryan nodded, refusing the offer of help. He staggered back to his feet himself, swaying slightly while he fought for his bearings.

‘I’m okay,’ he said carefully, glancing at Brendon, who looked suddenly and deliberately at the floor. _He knows,_ Ryan thought. _Whatever just happened to me, he knows why._

‘What happened?’ Pete asked, unaware of Ryan and Brendon’s wordless exchange. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing, I felt kind of light-headed for a second,’ Ryan said, wanting to change the subject until Pete was gone. ‘I’m probably hungry.’

He made his way slightly unsteadily over to the kitchen cupboards, feeling Brendon’s eyes on his back. _Something is up with him._ Ryan busied himself searching through their scarce supplies for something he felt like eating – but food wasn’t his concern right then. The second Pete was out of the house again, he was going to question Brendon about what had just happened. And if Brendon didn’t feel like answering, then he had to go.


	3. "Pete's not here, is he?"

Ryan was too scared to go to sleep again. He spent the whole night deliberately tossing and turning; forcing himself to sit up every time his eyes closed. But he must have drifted off in the early hours of the morning, because when he dragged himself out of bed, Pete had somehow slipped out again. He was all alone, just as he’d wanted to be.

Brendon was still curled up on the couch like he had been last night, but Ryan couldn’t tell if he was actually asleep or not.

‘Brendon?’ he said softly. Now that it came to it, Ryan wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He hadn’t figured out exactly what he was going to ask, or how he was going to get rid of Brendon if his questions were not answered.

‘Brendon?’ he said a little louder.

‘What?’ Brendon stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.

‘You have to get up,’ Ryan told him.

‘Why?’

Ryan hesitated. There was an edge to Brendon’s voice, something akin to suspicion. He was awake now, and beneath his thick fringe his eyes were mistrustful. It made Ryan feel guilty, though he didn’t know why.

Then inspiration hit.

‘We have to get out of here. Pete’s waiting for us outside, come on.’

_And what Pete wants, Pete gets._ Brendon had been there no more than two days and he already knew that. There was no need for Ryan to specify what reason Pete wanted them out of the house for. Brendon was already reluctantly stirring, pushing himself up on his elbows.

‘Can you help me up?’

Ryan had been hoping Brendon had miraculously recovered overnight, so Ryan could avoid touching him. Plus it would make the whole kicking him out easier if the guy was in a fit state to survive. He’d decided to postpone the questioning until Brendon was actually outside, so he, Ryan, could have the upper hand.

‘Ryan, can you help me up?’

‘Yeah,’ Ryan said reluctantly. What other choice did he have? Brendon couldn’t move without Ryan, so there was no way they were making it outside without a little physical contact. _Just be fast,_ Ryan told himself. _Grab his hand, get to the door and let him go again as quick as possible._

Of course Ryan’s plan hinged on The Brendon Effect (as he’d decided to name the strange, overpowering dizziness) happening as slowly as it had the last time. But the second he reached out, and their hands touched, he was lost again. Something was weighing him down, he was so tired. He had just enough presence of mind to try and pull away – but Brendon gripped on tight, not letting him. Then they were both on their feet, Ryan paralysed, half asleep, vision clouded. Brendon was a blurred silhouette, his face the only thing that was still in focus. They faced each other.

‘I thought Pete was waiting?’ Brendon said, voice echoing eerily. He sounded insincere, mocking. But Ryan couldn’t form words to respond.

‘Pete’s not here, is he?’ Brendon said.

Ryan didn’t feel like he was about to pass out this time, and as Brendon slowly became clearer in front of his eyes, he found he was able to move a little. He weakly shook his head.

_At least I was right…_ Ryan thought. _At least I know I was right not to trust him. I was right and Pete was wrong._

‘You’re not going to get rid of me, are you, Ryan?’ Brendon asked, but Ryan couldn’t coordinate his head to respond. He was frozen again, and black spots were appearing before his eyes. He began to feel dizzy. He was going to collapse again if Brendon didn’t let go soon.

‘You can’t get rid of me,’ Brendon said, oddly sincere. _He almost sounds afraid._

Still Ryan couldn’t reply. He stood numbly, feeling nothing but the soft pressure of Brendon’s hand in his. And then, keeping their eyes locked, Brendon leaned in and kissed Ryan. It was so sudden, so out of the blue. Ryan could still do nothing but stand there – but his whole body seemed to relax a little, and the cold numbness within gave way to warmth. It was the strangest overwhelming feeling, being completely out of his own control, but suddenly he didn’t mind so much. He found himself kissing back, though the black spots were infringing on his vision again, creeping in at the edges until all he could see was darkness. And then… 

Brendon let go abruptly. Just pulled his hand away and stepped back. And Ryan was thrust into a sharply conscious world again, cold and reeling. He felt ill. He took an awkward step away, and his back hit the wooden wall of the cabin. Then his legs gave way and he slid down onto the floor, pulling his knees up.

Brendon stood above him, unsupported, but somehow still upright. It was as if he’d somehow sucked out Ryan’s life force. 

‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ Brendon said, tone unreadable.

‘No… you shouldn’t…’ Ryan said, with little conviction. He was still trying to figure out exactly what he felt.

‘I just have a feeling… like there’s something I should tell you, but I can’t remember what…’

‘Okay.’ All Ryan needed was someone to give him a hand off the floor, but asking Brendon wasn’t really an option. He watched as Brendon bit his lip, and then took a few unsteady steps back until he could slump on the sofa again.

_He has no intention of leaving,_ Ryan thought. _And I have no way of making him._

Ryan wasn’t sure he even had the willpower to try asking what had just happened. He shifted his deadened limbs and tipped forward onto his hands and knees. Then he slowly pushed himself upwards, back on his own two feet again. He felt unsteady, unbalanced, but he still managed.

‘Brendon,’ he began, but was interrupted by a noise outside. A rustling of heavy feet on the forest floor. Ryan froze.

‘What is it?’ Brendon asked.

‘Probably just Pete,’ Ryan said softly, forcing himself to sound calm. He had thought they were far enough away up here, that they would be safe… _Maybe it’s just Pete; maybe it’s okay, maybe…_

Ryan jumped violently as a zombie slammed itself against the window, face leering, eyes blank, dead limbs flailing against the glass.

‘What are we going to do?’ Brendon asked in a low voice. He sounded oddly calm. ‘We can’t just stay here and hope it goes away, it knows we’re here now.’

‘I know.’ _It’s okay,_ Ryan thought. _I can do this. I’ve done it before. A long time ago…_

‘I need some sort of weapon…’ he said, as casually as he could.

‘Okay.’ Brendon was still staring out the window, into the zombies pale half-closed eyes, while it pressed its blood spattered face against the glass. 

Ryan felt sick. He couldn’t do it without Pete. He really couldn’t. But he was going to have to. He couldn’t rely on Brendon to help, the guy was a mess. And what’s more Ryan couldn’t trust him.

‘Stay where you are, Brendon,’ he said, drawing strength back into his voice. Pretending he wasn’t afraid made him feel a little better.

‘But –‘Brendon began, but Ryan had already picked up the axe they kept for firewood, and was heading for the door. The zombie turned, drawn by the noise. Ryan gripped the axe’s handle tighter as he stepped outside. He was ready. He could do it.

Then out of nowhere another zombie lunged at him from the right. It must have been hidden round the side of the cabin and heard him opening the door. The two of them bore down on him, and they may have been slow, but they were so close. He swung the axe blindly, missing with the blade – but the heavy, blunt end made contact with the nearest zombie’s face, and the whole thing collapsed in on itself with a sucking, smacking noise. A thick black substance, mixed with strikingly scarlet blood drooled down the axe handle, and Ryan flinched, watching the zombie’s body fall. 

The rest was instinct. The second zombie took a clean hit to the neck, and within seconds it was over. Ryan was standing above the two collapsed bodies, blood and black gunk spattering his clothes, his face, and worst of all his hands. The axe handle was slick with gore.

He’d done it without Pete. He’d done what he had to do. Ryan felt accomplished for a split second, but was quickly overcome with fear. Taking a quick look around him he stumbled back inside and slammed the door. Brendon had managed to stand up and make his way over and he now stood facing Ryan. 

‘Nice one,’ he said hesitantly.

‘Thanks,’ Ryan said, before a wave of nausea and fatigue hit him and he had to grip the edge of the sink to keep standing. Whether it was relief that he’d survived the zombie attack, or a residual feeling from The Brendon Effect, he wasn’t sure. But he felt terrible.

‘You okay?’ Brendon asked.

‘Yeah.’ He dropped the axe, and then using the edge of the sink as support, Ryan slid down onto the floor again, and sat there, too weak to move. His head was pounding.

‘At least you’re still alive.’

Ryan didn’t have to energy to respond. He hugged himself tight, feeling suddenly cold and disorientated. Instinctively, Brendon knelt down at his side – and though Ryan tried to jerk his head away, Brendon reached forward and smoothed his hair out of his face. Then he licked his thumb and wiped, what Ryan presumed was a drop of blood, off his forehead.

‘What’s happening to me?’ Ryan asked softly. He wasn’t sure where the question came from, but the way he felt seemed like an overreaction to a simple zombie encounter.

‘You’re fine,’ Brendon said, not looking him in the eyes. He dampened his sleeve at the sink, and then proceeded to clean more blood of Ryan’s face. The gesture was nice, but they were too close for Ryan’s comfort. He didn’t want Brendon to try and kiss him again. He couldn’t take that kind of intensity.

‘Stop.’

Brendon looked surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Just stop,’ Ryan said flatly.’I’m fine.’

Ignoring the hurt look on Brendon’s face, Ryan keeled over onto his side and closed his eyes. The only thing he needed was sleep.

*

When Ryan eventually woke up, it was next morning.

He felt hot and fevered and the last thing he remembered about yesterday was Pete saying, ‘Ryan, you’re in the way’ and then the disorientated trip to the sofa. He’d been crashed there the rest of the night. 

As he shifted his head into a more comfortable position, it struck him again that this wasn’t exactly normal. Okay, so he was afraid of the undead, every self-respecting human was. But he’d never had this zombie-attack-induced hangover before. Something was up.

‘Pete…?’ Ryan wasn’t sure if Pete was still there or not, but he wanted him anyway, so he might as well check. 

There was no immediate answer, so Ryan assumed he wasn’t. Great. That was another thing that wasn’t exactly normal. Where did Pete keep going off too? There was definitely something wrong.

‘Did you want something, Ryan?’

Ryan opened his eyes, hoping for Pete, but was greeted by Brendon’s pale, unreadable face instead. Ryan didn’t like how trusting of Brendon Pete was. Trusting enough to leave Ryan alone and incapacitated with him.

‘I wanted Pete…’ Ryan said slowly, turning his head to stare at the ceiling.

‘Pete’s not here.’

‘I noticed.’ Ryan half sat up. ‘Where is he then?’

‘He went out.’

_Surprise, surprise._ Ryan ignored his aching head and sat up properly. He didn’t want to talk to Brendon anymore, so after counting to ten he heaved himself to his feet, intent on doing anything which got him out of talking.

‘What are you doing, Ryan? If you want anything I’ll get it,’ Brendon said firmly and pushed him back onto the couch. Ryan would have protested, but he was too tired. Tired and restless at the same time. Which was not a good combination.

‘Can I have something to eat?’ Ryan asked, though he wasn’t hungry.

‘Sure.’ Brendon turned and made his way over to the cupboard. Ryan knew he wouldn’t find much in there; they were running dangerously low on supplies and Brendon was frowning when he came back. 

‘There isn’t much,’ he said, holding out an apple and a piece of bread. Ryan bit his lip. They were worse off than he’d realised.

‘Ryan? Do you want this or not?’

‘I can’t eat it if that’s all we have.’

‘It’s not everything. Come on, you should eat something.’ Brendon tore the bread in half, and offered again. Ryan shook his head.

‘I don’t want it.’

Sighing, Brendon sat down on the sofa next to Ryan, and said, ‘There’s kind of something I need to tell you.’

Ryan changed his mind, and shoved the bread in his mouth so he could avoid participating in the conversation. Brendon sighed again. 

‘You shouldn’t eat so fast.’

Ryan swallowed and then made a face at him. Brendon just shrugged.

‘So yeah, as I was saying… it’s kind of about yesterday.’

_Yesterday…?_ Ryan frowned, trying to remember. And then a hazy swirl of memories came back to him. Not only the zombies, there was the kiss. His stomach flipped, and not in a particularly pleasant way.

‘You okay?’ Brendon asked.

‘Yeah,’ Ryan said, wondering if he was actually about to vomit. He got cautiously to his feet, ignoring Brendon’s stare. ‘I just need some fresh air…’

He walked smartly to the door, flung it open and stepped outside, breathing the cool air. It had been raining again, and the forest floor was wet beneath his feet. The soft dripping from the branches masked the shuffling of feet until the last second, and when Ryan turned round the zombie was only a few feet away.

He froze. It stretched a blood-stained hand towards him.

Ryan didn’t move as it came towards him. He was weaponless and powerless, and he wanted to turn and run but suddenly felt incapable of doing so. He was rooted to the spot, numb and paralysed. The zombie stumbled closer and closer.

‘Ryan, what are you doing?’ Brendon was there suddenly, hands on Ryan’s arm. Ryan automatically flinched, his limbs coming back to life – but Brendon wasn’t trying to cling onto him, he was pushing him out of the way. Ryan stumbled sideways as the zombie lunged, and suddenly it was sinking its teeth into Brendon’s arm.


	4. "Talk to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient, even when i left you with that cliffhanger for so long. But here's the next chapter at last! Hope it was worth the wait... :)

Brendon went several shades paler but didn’t pull away. The zombie still had its mouth around his arm and if he moved it would probably end up doing more damage. Ryan wouldn’t have thought about that. For a moment he just stood still, wondering how on earth Brendon was coping so well with this insanely terrifying situation, before realising he should do something to help him.

The axe was where’d he’d left it yesterday, so he shot inside. He ignored the feeling of dried blood on the handle. There was no time feel sick or psych himself up. He swung blindly at the zombie’s head before he had time to think. He was only lucky his aim was right.

Brendon gasped and staggered back as the zombie reeled, but both stayed standing.

‘Ryan…’ Brendon said, through gritted teeth. ‘Ryan… it’s fine… I’m fine…’

Ryan ignored him, and finished the zombie off with another reckless swing of the axe. His relief was short-lived, because it didn’t matter that it was dead, that he’d won through. All that mattered was he’d been stupid enough to let Brendon get bitten.

_Brendon tried to save you,_ said a voice in his head. _He put himself in harm’s way._

But Ryan wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if he’d been thinking straight. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. 

‘Brendon…?’ Ryan slowly turned to face him. Brendon smiled wanly, gripping his bitten arm tight. Shockingly red blood poured through the gaps in his fingers, trickling down and patterning the forest floor a grisly shade. It was bad.

‘You’ll be okay,’ Ryan said numbly. ‘It’ll be fine.’

It was his fault. Ryan had failed to save his friends once before, and now it was happening all over again. Brendon would have been better off without him. Neither Pete or Ryan could be trusted; they’d survived for all the wrong reasons. Not because they were particularly strong or brave or strategic. Ryan was a gutless coward and Pete was just plain lucky.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Ryan said flatly, reaching to to hold Brendon’s arm, offering him any support.

‘I’m not going to turn into a zombie,’ Brendon said. Ryan nodded, not really taking it in.

‘Okay, okay, that’s fine. Maybe you won’t.’

Brendon shook his head. ‘No you don’t understand, I’m actually not going to.’

Ryan gently pushed Brendon in the direction of the cabin, passing off the comment as the ramblings of a dying man. But Brendon fought against him, keeping his ground. His hands were trembling, but he was surprisingly strong. Ryan halted, forced to listen.

‘I can’t turn into a zombie,’ Brendon said, ‘because I already am one.’

Ryan blinked. _He’s delirious, get him inside._

‘No you’re not, Brendon…’

‘No really.’ Brendon’s voice became more forceful, though he was paler than ever. His arm was like a blood soaked rag, and the harder he squeezed it, the more blood seemed to pour out. ‘It’s hard to explain, so listen to me… please. I’m not technically a zombie but I… I carry the virus in me, so I can be bitten but I can’t be affected.’

‘What?’ Ryan was hearing the information, but not understanding. He’d spent so long seeing a zombie bite as a death sentence. Any alternative to this was tough to compute.

‘Just trust me,’ Brendon said. ‘I’ll explain properly once we’re inside.’ He stopped short, gripping his arm so hard his knuckles went white. Ryan had no choice but to believe him.

‘Come on, Brendon,’ he said, taking hold of his good arm. ‘Let’s go.’

Ryan didn’t know what to do once they got inside. Brendon collapsed on the sofa, hugging his arm to his chest. The bloodstain down the front of his jacket was rapidly spreading. So what if he was right about the whole not-turning-into-a-zombie thing? He could still bleed to death.

Ryan wished Pete was there. He was so used to letting the burden of an opinion fall on someone else. Without him, Ryan had no idea what to believe.

‘Pete’s not the answer to everything…’ he muttered to himself, turning his back on Brendon. ‘You’re the one who’s here. _Do_ something.’

Ryan systematically searched through the cupboards, but he was out of luck. He didn’t even know if they had a first aid kit. Since coming to the cabin there had only been minor injuries to deal with – cuts and scrapes when Pete had fallen out of trees, trying to climb high enough to see the city. He soon became adept at fixing himself up – it was never really Ryan’s responsibility.

Sometimes late at night, when the dreams stopped him sleeping, it helped Ryan to do something with his hands. So he’d taken to stitching up Pete’s torn clothes for him. Pete would wind Ryan up, calling him a housewife, but Ryan didn’t care. Anything to distract himself.

_That’s it,_ he thought suddenly. _At least I know where to get a needle and thread._

‘What are you doing?’ Brendon said, the second Ryan approached him. Ryan had the wet cloth he’d used to clean Brendon’s face on that first day in one hand. In the other he had the needle and thread – which on a second inspection was much bigger than the kind of needle he really needed. Needles intended for humans were thin and curved to get into the skin easier. His sewing needle was long and clumsy, and the thread was thick. But it was all he had.

‘I have to stitch you up,’ Ryan said, more calmly than he felt.

‘You’re not touching me with that thing,’ Brendon said, sitting up abruptly, pushing himself against the arm of the couch. He seemed to have regained a little colour. 

‘It’s not going to hurt more than getting bitten by a zombie,’ Ryan said, without knowing if that were true or not. Brendon raised his eyebrows.

‘Why don’t I believe you?’

‘I guess you have no reason to trust me,’ Ryan said, which came out more pointed than he meant it to. He sat on the sofa beside Brendon, gently taking hold of his bad wrist.

‘I trust you,’ Brendon said, after a moment. ‘It’s you who doesn’t trust me.’

‘Well, don’t feel special, I don’t trust anyone.’ Again, Ryan was trying to be light-hearted, wanting to distract Brendon from reality – but it came out wrong. He sounded painfully sincere. Brendon didn’t respond; he flinched instead as Ryan dabbed his arm with the wet cloth.

‘It might hurt,’ Ryan said, as he inspected the wound. Because Brendon had stood still, the zombie hadn’t torn a chunk of his flesh out. There was a clean line of teeth-marks, opening up in a crescent moon shape. It was deep – but that made Ryan’s job easier. There was enough skin for him to get the needle into.

‘It will hurt,’ Brendon agreed, arm tensed. The wound was still bleeding, and Ryan’s fingers were getting slippery already. He wiped again and again, but it wouldn’t stop. He would just have to go for it, though his hands were shaking worse than Brendon’s.

‘I’m used to people not trusting me,’ Brendon blurted out, perhaps in an effort to distract himself from the pain. ‘Because of what I am… this half-zombie thing. Of course, you didn’t trust me before you knew, and I could never figure out why. But I think maybe that’s just it. I’m not special – you really don’t trust anyone. That makes more sense. But you should know that you don’t have to trust me, but you also don’t have to push me away. I know the guilt that comes with being a survivor. I know it’s not any easier than dying. And I know what it’s like to be isolated. I know how you feel.’

He cut himself off, wincing as Ryan drew the needle slowly through his skin. Ryan was glad he had something focus on, because he didn’t know how to respond to what Brendon was saying. It would have been so easy to just let go. To confess similar feelings of understanding, to let Brendon know that they could be friends. But something stopped him. And then the silence had gone on too long, and Ryan had missed his chance.

‘Talk to me,’ Brendon said suddenly, teeth gritted against the pain. ‘Distract me. Please.’

‘Okay…’ Ryan said, head down, concentrated. The thick black thread looked ugly no matter how small his stitches were – but at least he was getting quicker. And that meant it would be over soon. ‘What should I talk about?’

‘I don’t know, anything,’ Brendon said, almost snappily. He squirmed against the arm of the couch, suddenly gripping Ryan’s shoulder for support.

‘Don’t knock me.’

‘I’m not knocking you. Talk to me, for god’s sakes.’

‘It was a Tuesday,’ Ryan said suddenly, and Brendon stilled, breathing hard.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Ryan said, calmly, trying to make his voice soothing. He didn’t know why this detail came back to him. ‘It was a Tuesday, lunch time. Me and Pete used to share an apartment together. He’d just lost his job, and I had a day off. We were about to go out to eat… I was getting my car keys, and he was just standing looking out the window… It was so quiet out there. Usually in our part of town you could here drunks yelling and cars driving too fast… but it was just silent.’

Ryan paused, thinking about it. Brendon had gone very quiet, and his stare was very intent.

‘Pete said to me, “Ryan, you’re going to want to see this…” and I walked over and looked out and…’ Ryan hesitated again, feeling suddenly cold. He forced himself to concentrate on his hands. ‘And it was just this guy… this one guy, stumbling down the street outside. At first I didn’t get what Pete was trying to show me. But then he… _It_ looked up at us…’

That was how it had started. The first day of the outbreak. That first zombie sighting, and Ryan’s whole life had changed. He was saved from talking about it anymore by Brendon’s sharp intake of breath, followed by a pained snort of laughter.

‘God, Ryan, you’re a butcher.’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ Ryan muttered, though he knew Brendon was kidding. His arm had stopped bleeding at last, and Ryan only had a few more stitches to go. ‘Shall I keep talking?’

‘I don’t care, just get this over with,’ Brendon said, squirming worse than ever.

‘Then stop moving.’ Ryan glanced up, and Brendon froze for a second and the two of them just stared at each other. Without taking time to think about it too hard, Ryan leaned in and kissed Brendon, very softly. It wasn’t anything like the first kiss they had shared, but Brendon stilled, his arm relaxed a little – and in one fluid movement, Ryan lowered his head and finished the last stitch.

‘Thanks,’ Brendon said softly, but Ryan wasn’t sure if he was being thanked for the kiss or his stitching skills. He didn’t get a chance to ask – that second, Pete burst through the door, gasping for breath.

‘What happened?’ he said instantly. Then paused, seeing the two of them on the couch. Ryan immediately shifted away; though the needle in his hand was still attached to the thread in Brendon’s arm, and Brendon flinched sharply.

‘Jesus, Ryan!’

‘What happened?’ Pete repeated, scanning their faces. ‘I saw the zombie’s body outside. Are you okay?’

‘Where were you?’ Ryan asked, ignoring the question. He was suddenly annoyed. Pete couldn’t just keep taking off without telling him why. 

‘I was just scouting around,’ Pete said evasively. ‘You know, the usual. Your turn – tell me what happened.’

‘Pete –‘

‘What happened, Brendon?’ Pete asked, interrupting Ryan. Ryan irritably took the thread in both hands and gave it a sharp tug, separating it from the needle. Brendon flinched again. And then, like a reflex response to the pain, Brendon blurted out, ‘Ryan hacked me with the axe.’

Ryan froze, confused. _What was Brendon trying to achieve?_

‘What –‘he began, but Brendon interrupted him. 

‘It’s okay, it was an accident. And I’m fine now, look?’ He showed Pete his arm. ‘He stitched me all up. That’s all that happened. The zombie attacked us and things got out of hand, and it just happened. But I promise I’m fine.’

Pete looked speechless for a moment, but then he turned to face Ryan.

‘You complete idiot,’ he said simply.

Ryan kept quiet, not trusting himself to speak. Brendon must have had some secret motivation for throwing Ryan under the bus – and Ryan wanted to know what it was. But not while Pete was there. 

Besides, a more pressing matter had entered his head: the food situation.

‘Pete?’ 

‘What?’ Pete had walked right up to them and was studying Brendon’s wound.

‘We don’t have any…’ Ryan began, but trailed off as a familiar feeling of nausea swept over him. He’d felt it earlier, just before the zombie attack – and he wondered again if he was actually going to vomit. _No, probably not._

‘What?’ Don’t have any what?’ Pete prompted impatiently.

_On second thoughts, maybe he was._ Forgetting to answer, Ryan rose quickly to his feet and stumbled towards the door. He just had time to haul it open before he threw up.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ Ryan supported himself on the edge of the door frame until he was final able to raise his head. He spat, wiped his mouth, and turned back inside, closing the door behind him. His hands were shaking badly, and he felt emptier, but no less sick.

‘Something you ate?’ Pete asked, with little sympathy. He probably thought Ryan had hacked Brendon on purpose and the guilt was turning his stomach.

‘I don’t know,’ Ryan said. ‘I just don’t feel that great.’

‘Attention whore,’ Pete said, and then smiled to show he was kidding. ‘You’ll be alright. Can’t say the same for Brendon here. You’ve done a real number on his arm.’

‘Right, sorry,’ Ryan said flatly, and Brendon guiltily caught his eye.

_I’m sorry,_ he mouthed. Ryan didn’t feel like forgiving him just yet. He had the slightest feeling that Brendon might still be hiding something.


	5. "On your feet."

Pete decided they were leaving the following morning.

‘We have to get out of here,’ he said ‘It’s not safe anymore.’

It wasn’t a new thought; he’d been saying things on the same tack for a while now, so Ryan ignored him. He was sitting at one end of the sofa, nursing a headache – and Brendon was at the opposite end, picking at his stitches. Ryan didn’t have the energy to tell him to stop.

‘I’ve been scouting around and there are more zombies everyday,’ Pete continued. ‘Like, they’re coming closer to us. It’s not safe to be here.’

‘Point being?’ Ryan sighed. He knew the answer, but asked because he could tell Pete wanted him to.

‘Point being we have to leave soon. Or not soon – today, before more of them find us, and we get trapped in here,’ Pete said, exasperated. ‘There’s only three of us, we can’t take on more than four or five at a time – and actually, I wouldn’t trust your skills with that axe anymore anyway, Ryan.’

Ryan sighed again. ‘Go where?’

‘Easy,’ said Pete. ‘We’ll go down to the city.’

Ryan had been expecting that answer, but a chill still ran down his spine.

‘Why? Why there?’

‘What do you mean why?’ Pete snapped. ‘It’s the only place we can go. We’re right out in the open up here. Sure, there’s more zombies in the city – but there’s also more places to hide. And you know how low on food we are. There are resources down there. We could actually build a life for ourselves again. I hate feeling like I’m stuck in limbo up here. We’re not doing anything, we’re not helping anyone – not even ourselves. You can’t tell me you want to hide away here forever?’

Ryan stayed silent. That’s exactly what he wanted, but he couldn’t say it aloud, it would sound too pathetic and cowardly.

‘Besides, there are more survivors down there.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Ryan said.

‘Maybe I don’t,’ Pete agreed. ‘But I can’t stand thinking about the possibility and not doing anything. Don’t you think it’s a little unrealistic to think we’re the ones who survived?’

It was Pete who was being unrealistic. Ryan would even say _idealistic_. He had an idea about the glorious return to the fallen city, being the apocalypse’s very own Knight in Shining Armour. But Ryan knew what zombies were like; he’d seen what they could do. They would have crawled through the city like termites, eating it out from the inside. There would be nothing left.

But once Pete latched onto an idea, there was nothing anyone could do. And Ryan wasn’t staying in the cabin all alone. _Unless…_

‘You coming Brendon?’ Pete asked. Brendon tried to catch Ryan’s eye, but Ryan deliberately avoided it. He wasn’t sure why. He wanted Brendon to say he would stay – but he also didn’t. The idea of being all alone with Brendon in the cabin was both appealing and scary.

‘I’ll go,’ Brendon said. ‘What other option do I have?’

‘So, Ryan?’ Pete said, and he sounded suddenly less sure of himself. _Does he actually want me to come?_ Ryan thought. He smiled a little. _What Pete wants, Pete usually always get._

‘Well, I’m not staying here by myself,’ he said.

Pete grinned. ‘Great. Let’s pack the barest essentials and then get out of here as soon as we can.’

Ryan regretted his decision almost as soon as he stood up. He’d been able to ignore the heaviness in his limbs while he was sitting down, but the second he got to his feet, it all hit him again. He must have looked like he was suffering, but Pete chose to ignore it, wanting to leave as soon as possible. Ryan felt slightly betrayed.

Brendon offered a weak smile in an attempt to be comforting, but when he tried gently squeezing Ryan’s hand, Ryan flinched quickly away. The alarming effect he got from holding Brendon’s hand was the last thing he needed. It was so frustrating; he could have done with the support, but support from Brendon wasn’t really an option. He was too strange, to mysterious. Verging on dangerous.

‘Come on, guys,’ Pete hassled. ‘On your feet, get some weapons and then let’s get going.’

*

It didn’t take long to check the immediate area for zombies. Probably because Pete didn’t look very thoroughly. Either way, he had decided they were leaving, so that’s what they were doing, regardless of the dangers.

Even gripping onto the an old chair leg as a weapon, Ryan felt uneasy. He was wearing his cord jacket and his scarf, but still couldn’t shake the cold. Pete went ahead, with the backpack of supplies and the blood-stained axe. He said he didn’t trust Ryan with a sharp object anymore. Walking between the two of them was Brendon, with no weapon at all. He wasn’t at full health or strength yet, and it didn’t matter if he got bitten by a zombie anyway. Though of course Pete didn’t know that.

Pete was uncharacteristically quiet, and Brendon had shut up since Ryan kept blanking him. All that could be heard were their soft footsteps over the forest floor.   
They walked for hours, following markers Pete had left on previous trips. It turned out he’d been planning the journey much longer than Ryan realised – going a little closer to the city every day to map out the most direct route. Once they reached what Pete claimed was the half-way point, they finally stopped.

They didn’t dare build a fire for fear of drawing attention to themselves. Pete unpacked their meagre supplies, and they ate in the gathering darkness. Ryan knew his body was crying out for food – but he felt sicker and sicker with each mouthful. He had to force it down.

As night fell properly, Pete said, ‘We’ll have to take shifts in staying up.’

Ryan felt physically exhausted but wide awake, so he offered to take the first watch. At least that was one less strange thing in his life. For the first few nights Brendon had been with them it had been easy getting to sleep, but now the familiar insomnia was returning. Ryan welcomed it. It made him feel like himself again, and not some dying reflection of Brendon, the alleged half-zombie. Half dead: that’s what he felt like.

‘You look kind of worn out, Ryan,’ Pete said. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t stay up.’

‘I’m fine,’ Ryan said, wanting to be a martyr. ‘You should sleep first.’

Pete didn’t argue; he looked tired. Both he and Brendon lay down and went quiet.

Ryan was left sitting on the cold ground, leaning against a tree. Totally freezing, in the dark, with no one to talk to. Time moved strangely without sight, but he felt like he’d been sitting there for hours when he finally decided he couldn’t stand it anymore. He got to his feet, knees cracking, intent on waking Pete up to take over – then he heard a noise.

Ryan froze. It was just a soft cracking of a branch, somewhere to his left. It was most likely just an animal – but he didn’t want to take any chances. He took a few cautious steps away from their makeshift camp, straining his eyes in the darkness.

‘Ryan, what are you doing?’

It was Brendon. He was sitting up, face alert.

‘I thought I heard something,’ Ryan said, and kept walking. ‘Stay there, I’m going to find out what it is.’

‘Ryan, wait. Don’t go alone!’

Ryan heard Brendon getting to his feet and following, so loud whatever had been out there was scared off. _Must have been an animal._ Ryan relaxed a little, but kept on walking.

‘Don’t follow me, Brendon. I’m not going to be gone long.’

‘I want to. I can’t sleep anyway.’ Suddenly Brendon was right at his side, and before Ryan could protest Brendon had intertwined their hands. Ryan went to pull away, but suddenly found the warm pressure of Brendon’s hand to be a welcome comfort. He’d been so cold and so alone for what felt like forever. He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed a simple gesture like that. And what’s more The Brendon Effect didn’t seem to be happening anymore. Or at least it didn’t bother Ryan so much in the dark.

Forgetting about the mysterious noise, the two of them wandered deeper into the black woods, hand in hand. Whether it was an effect of Brendon, his own strange illness, or the dark itself, Ryan was in a strange dreamlike state. And it felt like the consequences of the everyday didn’t affect him. They walked on and on, stumbling on the uneven ground, with no sense of direction. They didn’t speak, but it didn’t matter.

Then wordlessly, when Ryan felt too tired to stand, they stopped and lay down on the forest floor together. And Ryan closed his eyes, hand still entwined with Brendon’s, and wondered if he really was dreaming, because for once he felt so quietly, simply happy.


	6. "Just let me explain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this story, people. Your encouragement means a lot. Hope this next chapter satisfies! :)

Ryan didn’t feel quite so great the next morning. He woke with a gnawing sense of dread that only got worse the more conscious he became. He knew there was something bad he had to think about, but he didn’t want to think about it, so he stayed where he was. Pale grey light filtered down through the foliage above, and he could feel the damp earth beneath him. But he wasn’t cold. There was something – actually someone, pressed against his right side, and he could feel soft breathing on his neck.

Brendon.

And then slowly Ryan remembered what he should be remembering: Brendon was that bad thing he didn’t want to think about. Though it didn’t feel wrong to be curled up together like they were – in fact it was the most sensible position they could be in. Pete had always insisted huddling for warmth was an important survival technique. 

_Pete… Pete? Pete!_

Ryan shoved Brendon off and scrambled to his feet. They had just left Pete wherever he had been last night, completely exposed and unprotected, and if he was dead it would be all Ryan’s fault…

_No, it would be Brendon’s fault_, Ryan told himself. _If he hadn’t insisted on coming with me, then I wouldn’t have gone so far. If he hadn’t been with me I would have been thinking straight._

‘Brendon?’ Ryan impatiently nudged him with his foot.

‘What…?’

‘We have go find Pete,’ Ryan said, irritably. ‘And quickly. Come on, get up! It’s morning.’

Brendon groggily dragged himself from sleep, and when he asked Ryan for a hand up, Ryan denied him. He wasn’t going to fall into that trap again. Pete could be dead for all Brendon cared – and Ryan couldn’t lose him as well. He’d lost everything once before, and Pete was the only thing that had been consistent through his old and new lives. Pete was that safe person he could always rely on, and it was supposed to be vice versa. But Ryan had left him. Betrayed him. And that was Brendon’s fault.

‘You okay?’ Brendon asked, struggling to his feet.

‘No!’ Ryan snapped.

‘Sorry, that was a stupid question.’ Brendon ducked his head. 

‘You bet it was. Pete could be dead. Now let’s go.’

‘I didn’t mean because of Pete,’ Brendon said, and then cut himself off, biting his lip. Ryan’s urgency turned to cold numbness. There was something worryingly pointed about the way Brendon was talking.

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Brendon said. ‘But… but maybe it’s for the best we left him. Better that way. Safer.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ryan said, voice rising. ‘You’ve started now, so you better finish. What the hell do you mean?’

‘Promise not to say anything until I’ve explained,’ Brendon said, not looking Ryan in the eye. ‘It’ll sound worse than it is – but just let me explain.’

‘I’m letting you,’ Ryan said curtly. ‘Spit it out.’

‘Okay…’ Again Brendon hesitated infuriatingly. Then he glanced up, and for one brave moment looked Ryan in the eyes, and uttered the most bafflingly terrifying words Ryan had ever heard:

‘You might be turning into a zombie.’

‘_What_?’

‘I said, let me explain!’ Brendon snapped, and then suddenly lost all confidence, and ducked his head. ‘You may have caught the virus from me.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ Ryan argued, struggling to keep his voice even. ‘I thought… I thought you said you weren’t like any normal zombie.’

Ryan wasn’t even sure he’d believed Brendon up until this point. Now he couldn’t ignore the issue anymore; it was right in front of him, screaming for his attention. _Brendon’s a zombie. For all his attempts at making you think he could be your friend – he’s just a zombie, and he’s dangerous._

‘I can’t be infected by other zombies,’ Brendon recited. ‘But I can… I can infect other people.’ 

Ryan didn’t say anything, so Brendon continued, as coldly as someone reading from a script. He’d clearly had to tell people the same thing over and over and over again, and Ryan was just the latest on his list of victims.

‘I can’t infect you in the normal way though, I don’t have to bite you or anything…’

‘So how does it happen?’

‘There’s a… a couple of ways.’

‘Which are?’

‘Um… stuff… you know…’

‘I don’t.’

Brendon shrugged awkwardly. ‘Uh… it can be passed on through saliva… so… uh… kissing you would be one way.’

Ryan remained quiet for a moment. The first thought that went through his head was, _That’s it. I’ll never get to kiss him again._ And he felt stupid and sorry that he’d ever kissed him in the first place, and the simple act to distract them both from the pain and misery of stitching up that zombie bite had condemned him. But then he remembered that it wasn’t his fault – Brendon had kissed him first, before then. And he had done it while knowing exactly what he was and what it would do. He’d effectively killed Ryan.

Ryan went colder still as the realization sunk in. 

He was dying.

It was over.

He should never have trusted Brendon. But now it was too late. The only comfort he could take from it was knowledge. An answer to all his confusion. The sickness, the tiredness, everything strange that had been happening to him recently all pointed to one thing: _he was dying._ But it was worse, and much more complicated. He was turning into a zombie, the worst form of death he could possibly imagine. And Brendon had willingly inflicted that on him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Brendon said, softly. ‘I was so jangled up. It wasn’t clear… I wasn’t thinking when I did it, it just happened before I’d really realized why I shouldn’t do it. Maybe that makes no sense. But I didn’t mean to.’

It was too little too late. Ryan turned on his heel and walked off.

‘Ryan, wait! You said you’d let me explain!’

‘You have explained!’ Ryan snapped. ‘Don’t you dare follow me.’

‘Ryan, you have to listen to me. You only have a couple of days left. Ryan?’

Ryan ignored him, and when he heard Brendon’s footsteps coming after him, he ran for it. He didn’t stop to think about Pete, or other zombies, or where he was going – he just ran as hard and as fast as he could. He wanted to put as much distance between him and Brendon as he could.

There was a reason Ryan didn’t let himself trust anyone. They always, always ended up letting him down.

*

The city loomed up ahead, sinister and intimidating. No longer filled with life and noise, it was a silent desolate mass of buildings; broken shards of humanity scattered sadly throughout. It was a mass grave, a gigantic tomb. Engraved with one sobering line: _Here lies humankind._ The silent streets were evidence of one thing: the zombies had won.

It was the right time to come back. Ryan had nothing left to lose, and he wanted a suitable place to die. Six months before, he and Pete had fled the battlefield of their old lives to go to their cabin in the woods. It had all been over by then. Most of the zombies had been killed off, but so had most of the people. Ryan and Pete had lost all their friends, old and new, to the insatiable appetite of the undead. It had been a bloodbath, and Ryan would never ever forget it.

But where he wanted to escape and hide from the past, Pete wanted to conquer it.

‘We were so close,’ he would always say. ‘We were so close to wiping them out.’

The only problem was the zombies themselves had been just as close to wiping humans out – and it looked like that’s exactly what they’d done. Pete’s dream seemed futile in this cold, quiet place.

Ryan was so caught up in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear the zombie until it was too late. He thought he saw movement up ahead, and he swung round to go the opposite way – and there it was, right behind him. It lunged, spurred on by his sudden movement. He barely fought back. What was the point? He flung his arms up to shield his face, thinking something childish like, _if I can’t see it it can’t hurt me_. The thing savagely bit into his arm before he had time to think.

He couldn’t stay still like Brendon had done. It hurt too much. He tore his arm away and stumbled back. The zombie was still coming for him, blood drooling down it’s chin, and finally his flight instincts kicked in and he ran for it. Deeper and deeper into the city, he wove through quiet back alleys, until his heart was pounding and his lungs were burning, and black spots were swimming in front of his eyes. He drew to a sudden halt, feeling sick and faint. 

He stared down at his arm, the bite a bloody mess. It looked bad – but he was going to turn into a zombie anyway. What did it matter? 

Then nausea and dizziness consumed him, and he stumbled through the broken door of the nearest building, and collapsed in the protective darkness. 

*

_Was it morning yet?_ There was a tiny shaft of light coming through the single, dusty window above Ryan. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up where he was. He didn’t even know where he was. He slowly sat up, head spinning. 

His surroundings were cast in shadow. He could barely see, but he could still feel well enough. His arm twitched of its own accord and he was reminded of the bite.

Ryan got slowly to his feet and made his way cautiously across the floor, stepping over the random, jumbled objects beneath his feet, bits of someone else’s abandoned life. His legs felt like jelly and his head ached dully. Beneath the skylight, he could see a dusty porcelain sink, so that’s where he headed.

There was a mirror too. Ryan was startled by his reflection. He looked awful, pale and drawn with heavy eyes. He had the same half-dead look as Brendon.

Perhaps he should have been more sympathetic. Maybe Brendon was right. Ryan could see now how hard it was to judge things. It didn’t feel like reality – he was in a dreamlike state, where actions didn’t always have consequences, and he could understand how, in a moment of miserable, cold loneliness… you could do stupid things. He could understand why Brendon had kissed him.

_‘It wasn’t clear… I didn’t mean to do it…’_

Not that it mattered. Brendon wasn’t there to hear Ryan had forgiven him. Ryan was all alone.

_’You only have a few days…’_ That was the last thing Brendon had said.

Ryan shook his head, struggling with the stiff taps. He was thirsty, and his arm needed cleaning. But he didn’t have enough strength to turn them, and then slowly, the darkness crept in at the corners of his vision, and he was falling down, down, back into unconsciousness.


	7. "I watch my own back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Hope this one meets expectations... :)

Ryan didn’t remember leaving the safety of the old building he’d collapsed in, but when he next woke up he could see the pale sky above, and feel the grimy street beneath his back. His whole body ached, and he couldn’t open his eyes against the glare of the daylight. The sun was hidden behind clouds, but there was something painfully bright about the sky even so. Or maybe it was just him. He covered his face with a hand and tried to roll over, groaning as his stiff limbs protested. There was a dull full body pain – but a more immediate sharp pain in his right arm.

Once on his side, he uncovered his eyes, and was suddenly greeted by three sets of feet inches from his face. The figures standing over him hadn’t made a noise, so he assumed the worst – and pain momentarily forgotten, he scrambled to his feet, prepared to run.

‘Hey, wow, wow, it’s alright!’

Someone grabbed Ryan’s arm, and he pulled away, stumbling a few steps. But he didn’t keep running. He didn’t have the strength, and there was no point. Whoever they were, they weren’t zombies. _What would it have mattered if they were?_ He thought. _You’re a dead man anyway._

Ryan rubbed his eyes and then focused on the trio in front of him. Three worn-out looking guys with makeshift weapons. One of them stood slightly in front of the other two, the one who had tried to grab Ryan’s arm. He had earnest dark eyes, stubble, and was wearing a dusty brown cord jacket. A baseball bat rested easily in his hand.

‘Told you he wasn’t a zombie,’ said one of the others; he had blonde-brown hair and a pale, unreadable expression. The third guy made a face, hitching his thick-framed glasses up.

‘Shut up, Spencer.’

‘I’m just reminding you. I was right.’

‘Yeah, I got it the first time.’

Ignoring his arguing companions, the guy with the baseball bat (who Ryan guessed was the leader of their little group) stepped forward.

‘It’s alright,’ he said gently, as if Ryan were a wounded animal. ‘We’re not going to hurt you.’

Ryan wanted to believe him, but couldn’t. He shouldn’t even engage – it would only end worse for them. Without thinking up a plan, he spun round and made a break for it – but he could barley get his heavy limbs to work for him, and within seconds the trio had caught him up.

The blonde guy and the guy with glasses grabbed each arm, and the leader guy stepped in front of Ryan, his own arms folded.

‘Didn’t you hear me say we weren’t going to hurt you?’

‘What do you want?’ Ryan asked. He made a feeble attempt to struggle. ‘Let go of me.’

‘Why are you trying to run away?’ the leader guy asked.

Ryan considered what would be the most acceptable answer. If he told them the truth they might just let him go in alarm – but he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. It made it too real. Instead he stayed silent, suddenly hit by the strangeness of encountering other people, after all those months. Other people who had survived the brutality of the zombie outbreak. Pete had been right all along. It was just a shame Ryan wasn’t going to be alive long enough to see what that meant for him and Pete, and the rest of humanity.

‘I just want to be alone,’ he told the leader guy. The one holding his left arm snorted.

‘You know we’re in a survival situation, right? I wouldn’t advise going solo. You need someone watching your back.’

‘I watch my own back,’ Ryan argued. ‘Then there’s less to worry about.’

‘Yeah I can see that. You haven’t even ‘worried’ enough to arm yourself.’

Ryan glanced down at his empty hands, feeling like an idiot.

‘Let me go…’ he said, knowing it was pointless. To his surprise the leader guy gestured to the others to free his arms, which they did.

‘Thanks…’ Ryan ventured, not knowing what to do. The leader guy shrugged.

‘You’re not a prisoner. You can go if you want. There’s just not much to hold onto out here, not much to fight for, if you get my meaning. We’ve sort of taken it upon ourselves to help other survivors if we can. Figured the more of us the better.’

He sounded like Pete. Ryan felt strangely guilty – and then remembered he’d abandoned Pete somewhere in the woods, and he could be dead. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Ryan got to be here, the last place he’d ever wanted to come, to see the chewed up and spat out leftovers of humankind – and Pete was missing it. This was all Pete had ever wanted and Ryan had taken that away from him.

‘Thanks for the thought,’ Ryan said numbly. He felt in a daze, and his words were a knee-jerk response. ‘But I don’t need anyone’s help. And I wouldn’t be much use to you either.’

‘Everyone has their merits,’ the leader guy said, shrugging. ‘Hey, we’ve not even been properly introduced. I’m John, and these are my comrades, Spencer and Patrick.’

He gestured in turn to the dirty blonde, and the guy with glasses. They half smiled, and Spencer gave an ironic little wave. Ryan just stood dumbly, barely taking it in.

‘I’m Ryan…’ he said, after a little while. ‘Sorry… I really should go.’

Before they could try persuading him again, Ryan took off, slowly but steadily down the street. Due to the lack of sun, the buildings cast no long shadows; instead everything was bathed in a soft, damp greyness. The sky threatened rain. Ryan’s feet resounded on the empty street, but apart from that it was silent. He could just make out the parting words of his fellow survivors.

‘Let him go, John, there’s no point.’

‘Not everybody has the whole survivors-stick-together spirit. You should have learned that from Brendon.’

Ryan was halfway round the street corner when he heard the name, and he stumbled, torn in two directions. He wanted to turn and go back, ask them what they knew, when they’d spoken to him. Was it recent? Or had they known him long ago? It didn’t matter, he had to know. He tried to turn – but the sight he was met with round the corner made him stop dead, paralysed with horror.

He’d reached the city centre. The buildings opened up around him, revealing a flat plain of stone, a fountain in the middle. Nearby windows were smashed, and doors hung of their hinges; the whole place the picture of desolation. But it wasn’t the decay that scared Ryan. The entire square was seething with zombies. 

There were more than Ryan had ever seen in his life. _I thought Pete said we’d almost finished them off? He always said how close we were to beating them…_

They were milling aimlessly around, not drawn by any particular food source. They hadn’t seen Ryan yet, and before they got a chance, he staggered quickly backwards, and slammed himself against the wall on the safe side of the corner.

‘You alright?’ John asked, catching up. Ryan stood frozen, shaking his head.

‘Keep your voices down…’

‘What did he say?’

‘He wants us to keep our voices down,’ John explained, and then drew in close, studying Ryan’s face. His voice sounded faraway, and his concerned expression was blurring at the edges. Ryan knew he had to tell them something… warn them about something… but he couldn’t keep the thought in his head long enough. The dark curtain of unconsciousness came down, and the rough brick of the wall behind scraped his back as he slipped. He landed abruptly on the street, legs splayed out. 

His head throbbed. His heart pounded. He massaged his forehead, trying to drive out the pain.

‘Are you alright? Ryan? What’s wrong?’ John was kneeling at Ryan’s side now, and he’d dropped his baseball bat to reach out and gently shake Ryan’s arm. Spencer and Patrick loomed above, seeming as tall and imposing as the buildings behind them. Ryan couldn’t form words. Couldn’t tell John not to touch him.

‘Ryan?’ John lowered his hand from Ryan’s shoulder, and then settled it gently on his forearm. Ryan’s bad forearm. He flinched back to consciousness.

‘Don’t touch me!’

It was John’s turn to flinch. ‘What?’

‘Let go!’ Ryan yanked his arm away, but John was slow to release his hold, and the rough material of Ryan’s sleeve scraped the bite below. Ryan cried out in pain.

John didn’t waste time asking Ryan what was wrong again. He figured it out instantly – and before Ryan could stop him, his sleeve was being rolled up, and the bite was revealed. It stung in the cold air and he flinched again. His skin felt like it was _burning_. John certainly dropped his arm like a hot poker, and both Spencer and Patrick gasped.

‘Jesus…’ John said.

‘You’re…’ Patrick started, and Spencer finished it for him.

‘You’re infected.’

Ryan didn’t get a chance to explain (not that there was much he could explain anyway) before a thundering of feet sounded from round the corner. It was too quick for a zombie, but Ryan still found himself scrambling to his feet, survival instincts taking over. 

A figure appeared, running full speed, gasping for breath. _Another survivor?_

Ryan’s eyes focused properly. It wasn’t just any survivor.

It was Pete.

He stopped dead when he saw them, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

‘Zombies…’ he said, before he’d taken them in properly. ‘A lot of zombies.’ Pete’s eyes suddenly flickered in recognition and Ryan’s stomach flipped, prepared for an uncomfortable conversation, seeing as he and Brendon had left Pete for dead. But still Ryan was so relieved to see him, so mixed up with emotions, but overarchingly relieved to see his best friend alive… 

And then Pete was stumbling forward, arms outstretched, and saying a name, but not Ryan’s name. Pete went, ‘Patrick?’ and then threw his arms around the blonde guy with glasses.

Ryan was thrown off. _How did Pete know this guy?_ But he didn’t get a chance to question it. Pete and Patrick’s hug was brief, and then Pete was stepping back, giving Ryan a curt nod of recognition and then saying, 

‘Lots of zomies. Coming this way, right now. I had no way to get through the square other than to make a run for it, so… yeah. They’re all coming after me.’

Typical reckless Pete. Ryan shouldn’t be the one who was annoyed, but he was. Without a second glance at him, Pete was helping out these total strangers, and just assuming Ryan was okay. It wasn’t that Ryan felt jealous necessarily, he’d just been agonizing over Pete’s whereabouts for what felt like days, and it was such an anti-climax to see him again. He couldn’t figure out what he felt. 

And then as their small band of survivors grouped together, ready to make a run for it, a strange and inhuman feeling swept over Ryan. His hearing faded out like a radio with bad signal, and all he could do was feel the vibrations of life in the ground, and see the clumsy, slow movements of the humans around him. Behind the one called Pete’s shoulder, more figures were appearing; stumbling, harrowed looking dead ones, in a great unstoppable wave, driven by their need to eat. 

Ryan didn’t feel scared. He found himself moving against the current of his fellow survivors, and as Pete made to grab Ryan’s arm and drag him away, the strange sensation hit him again. The strange inhuman desire – and Ryan lunged forward and bit Pete’s neck.

He didn’t break the skin. His human teeth barely made a mark – but Pete still gasped and shoved him with such ferocity that Ryan lost his footing on the smooth street. The sensation faded away, and then everything faded away, and he was falling down into soft darkness once again.


	8. "That doesn't make any sense."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: suicidal thoughts

Ryan went through the routine of waking up, aching and disorientated, having no clue where he was. It was getting worryingly familiar. Was this what it was to be undead? An endless stream of confusion and pain, punctuated occasionally by blackouts. But then, his life before Brendon hadn’t been much different. It had almost been worse because he saw no end to it.

Wherever he was, there were voices talking, but too faintly for him to make out. Not that he cared much anyway. 

‘Ryan?’ 

That was Pete.

‘What?’

Pete extended a hand to help Ryan off the floor, but Ryan pushed it away. Leaning up on his elbows instead. He didn’t feel quite ready to get up.

‘You can’t lie there forever,’ Pete said, smiling wanly. ‘Come on, it’s for your own safety.’

‘Why? What’s going on?’

‘You don’t remember?’ Jon appeared out of nowhere, closely followed by Spencer and Patrick. Ryan flopped back down on his back. There was a roof above them, the plaster cracked and the corners stained with mould. But at least they were inside. They’d escaped the zombies.

For the moment anyway.

‘We have to talk,’ Pete said carefully, ‘about the whole zombie situation.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

‘You tried to eat me, Ryan!’

‘I didn’t try and eat you!’ Ryan sat up properly. He didn’t want to talk about it or think about it, or have to acknowledge his condition in anyway – but if he’d hurt Pete… Worse, if he’d done the same to Pete that Brendon had done to him and infected him… 

_‘It wasn’t clear… I didn’t mean to do it…’_ More and more Ryan was understanding Brendon’s point of view.

‘Fine, you tried to bite me then,’ Pete corrected himself. ‘In fact, you did bite me.’

‘I’m sorry…’ Ryan bit his lip. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Pete smiled and tilted his head, showing Ryan the impressive hickey on his neck. 

‘I’ve had worse,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t mean we don’t need to talk about it. We _need_ to talk about it, Ry. When did it happen?’

Ryan accepted Pete’s newly extended hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. The dark room swirled around him, but he stayed standing, gripping Pete’s arm.

‘When did what happen?’

‘That.’ Pete gestured to the bite on Ryan’s arm. ‘When did it happen?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yeah, it matters. I need to know how long you’ve got, so I can figure out how much time we have to help you.’

Ryan’s earlier relief at seeing Pete suddenly faded. Pete had always been there looking out for him. He was reckless – but he could fix anything, talk his way out of anything. He could do anything. That’s what Ryan always thought. He felt safe around Pete. But this was out of both of their control, and he realised then that Pete’s casual attitude wasn’t because he didn’t care, but because he was in total denial about the fact Ryan was a dead man. 

He couldn’t save him. Not this time.

‘Pete…’

‘What?’

Ryan didn’t know what to say. Pete wouldn’t listen to reason, wouldn’t listen to the cold hard facts. He was in shock. But all Ryan’s shock had worn off days ago, and he had grown to accept it. He wasn’t happy – but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. He was numb to it.

‘It happened days ago, Pete.’

‘Days?’ Pete went quiet for a moment, considering. Then a tiny spark of hope flickered into his eyes. ‘You should have changed by now… that doesn’t make sense. Maybe… maybe that means you’re not going to?’

Ryan shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. The bite happened yesterday… or today… I’m not sure. Time isn’t really clear to me anymore. But I didn’t get infected by the bite – I got infected by Brendon.’

‘What?’ Pete looked close to laughing. ‘Ryan, that doesn’t make any sense.’

‘I didn’t say it made sense. But it’s still true.’

‘But Brendon’s not a zombie.’

‘Actually, he is,’ Spencer said, and Pete’s head whipped round. Suddenly a flood of memories came back to Ryan, and he remembered just before he’d seen the zombies in the city   
centre, just before everything had gotten distorted and out of control again. He remember overhearing a conversation.

_‘Not everybody has the whole survivors-stick-together spirit, Jon. You should have learned that from Brendon.’_

‘You know Brendon?’ he blurted out, and Spencer half smiled.

‘Knew him. Once.’

Jon nodded. ‘Yeah, travelled with us for a bit. After the outbreak.’

‘Was he your friend?’ Ryan asked. He didn’t know why this was important; just that maybe he needed to hear someone tell him something good about Brendon before he completely villainized him in his mind.

‘Yeah,’ Spencer said. ‘The operative word being ‘Was’. He ditched us just before we met Patrick. About a month ago.’

‘He didn’t ditch us,’ Jon corrected, trying to play diplomat. ‘He just left. He had some issues. I think in his own way he was trying to do us a service.’

‘But… but…’ Pete started, and Ryan had never seen him this out of his depth. ‘But what do you mean he’s a zombie? When did that happen?’

‘You knew the guy and he didn’t tell you?’ Spencer said, raising his eyebrows. ‘He had some condition, I don’t understand it exactly. But he talked about it a lot. I’d say he even used it as an excuse for his crappy behaviour. He certainly used it as an excuse to ditch us.’

‘Spencer, calm down,’ Jon said, a flicker of irritation in his face. ‘It wasn’t as simple as that.’

‘He was a zombie…?’ Pete said, still stuck. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘He wasn’t a zombie, but he had the zombie virus,’Ryan said, suddenly wanting to get off the Brendon subject as quickly as possible. For some reason he didn’t like Spencer badmouthing him. ‘And he gave it to me, and I’m dying. End of story.’

‘But –’ Pete started.

‘Hey, how do you know Patrick?’ Ryan interrupted, more memories coming back to him. Pete just stared, clearly not taking in what Ryan had said.

‘What? Why is that relevant?’

‘You get to ask me questions, but I don’t get to ask you?’ Ryan said, aware he was being a little childish. But then he was dying. He was allowed to be childish.

‘I knew Patrick before I knew you,’ Pete sighed, giving Patrick a glance. They shared a faint smile. ‘We haven’t seen each other in a long time though –’

The others were spared anymore of the story by a sudden crash from outside the room they were in. Movement could be heard in the adjoining corridor. _Soon they’ll be right at the door._

‘They’ve found us…’ Jon spoke in a low voice. 

‘I noticed,’ Pete said. ‘We’ll have to escape some other way.’ He turned to inspect the broken window at the back. It seemed big enough; the only real problem was the shards of glass sticking up round the edges. That and the lengthy drop down to the street below.

‘We’ll break our legs if we jump that far,’ Patrick pointed out sensibly. Pete dismissed him.

‘You have any better ideas?’ 

Patrick shrugged helplessly. ‘No… Go on then, show us how it’s done.’

‘You won’t break your legs if you land the right way,’ Pete said, recklessly confident. Ryan had a feeling the brave face was an act. He was trying to protect them somehow. ‘You have to make sure you land on your feet, like a cat. And it’s our only option.’

‘Right, so you jump first,’ Patrick said, folding his arms. That got Pete for a moment – but then he shrugged like it was no big deal, and turned to face the window again. He pulled himself up onto the windowsill, positioning his feet carefully so he wasn’t skewered by broken glass. He gave them all a nervous glance, and Ryan held his breath.

‘Here goes nothing…’ Pete said. He straightened up and he jumped. Just like that.

Ryan’s stomach turned over as Pete disappeared, and without a second glance at the others, he sprinted forward, and leaned out to see what had happened.

Amazingly, by some miracle, Pete was still okay. He hadn’t landed on his feet and there was nothing catlike about his technique. It was all adrenaline and pure nerve. But he’d made it, and that meant they others to do their best to replicate – or they were all dead.

‘Incredible,’ Jon said, without a hint of sarcasm.

‘Typical Pete,’ Patrick added and Spencer sighed.

‘Right, who’s going next?’

Ryan took a few hasty steps back, determined to be the last one. The air of the old building was thick and musty, and it was making his head swim. His legs were already weak enough – he couldn’t handle the idea of them hitting the concrete below. The undead footsteps were getting closer and closer to the room’s entrance, but he had to push that out of his mind.

‘I’ll go last,’ he said, in response to the other’s glances. They shrugged and accepted it.

Jon went next. Followed more reluctantly by Spencer and then Patrick. It was as Patrick vanished beyond the frame of the window that Ryan realised he didn’t have a choice anymore. He couldn’t put it off, couldn’t get round it. He would have to jump.

Unless…

He was tired. 

He was dying.

He felt light-headed and heavy-hearted and it was beginning to dawn on him once again how little point there was to keeping up the pretence of survival. He was going to die, whether Pete believed it or not. Ideally, Ryan didn’t want to die alone, and he would have followed the others for as long as he could. Stuck by his friends, even if he was no use to them. 

But he had to face facts – and so did they. He wasn’t going to be able to bring himself to jump out that window, and there was no real reason for him to do it anyway. He might as well end it now.

Ryan’s stomach flipped again, the way it had when Pete first jumped. He felt very strange. He’d been facing imminent death for days now, but that wasn’t the same as actually deciding to end his own life. Because that’s what he was doing. By choosing to stand in that room and let the zombies break down the door behind him he was accepting his fate. He was ending it all.

They were almost there now, he could hear them. They knew he was there. As they came closer, his cold acceptance became more like the strange death wish he’d had the first time Brendon had gotten bitten to save him. It was almost like the undead were calling to him, drawing him to them. Soon he’d be one of them – and he couldn’t make himself move.

Pete’s voice sounded from outside the window, calling his name. Ryan couldn’t go to reassure him. He would have to just wait, praying they took off in search of safety before the zombies heard them shouting.

There were louder footsteps in the corridor now, quick footsteps.

Too quick. Too quick to be any zombie… 

‘Ryan!’ 

Ryan spun round as he heard Brendon’s voice. Was that really Brendon’s voice? Or was his mind playing cruel tricks? Was he going mad in his final hour? But then a figure burst through the door, catching up to him, and Ryan knew him, knew his face, knew the intense feeling of his hand, interlocking their fingers.

‘Come on!’ Brendon said, and Ryan didn’t get a chance to comprehend it properly, before he was being guided forward; forced up onto the window ledge. The room behind filled with the hungry moans of the undead, and hands linked, Ryan and Brendon both jumped.


	9. "It's been a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! I'm trying to get these last chapters really good, though I'm sure there will still be a million typos. Hope you enjoy! :)

The ground was a lot harder than it looked, which Ryan hadn’t thought possible until both legs made contact with it and buckled. He and Brendon both pitched forward, losing their grip on each other and smacking onto the sidewalk. 

No sooner had they landed, they had to leap back to their feet and run for it. Ryan was used to his legs feeling like jelly and his head pounding – but this was a thousand times worse. It took the last of his strength and will to just keep running. They raced through the city streets, avoiding the buildings where there seemed to be movement. What seemed like hours later they turned into a side alley, and all stopped, gasping for breath. Ryan’s legs gave way again, and he collapsed to the ground, back against the alley wall.

‘Jesus Christ…’ Pete said, taking in huge gulps of air. Ryan thought it was an exclamation of relief, but then Pete’s gaze turned on him. ‘Jesus, Ryan, what the hell was that?’

Ryan made a face at him and didn’t answer. Fortunately Pete didn’t question him further, distracted by Brendon instead. Jon and Spencer looked equally shocked to see him, but none of them seemed to know what to say.

‘Hey…’ Brendon ventured, after a moment. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Yeah,’ Jon echoed. He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but stopped himself. Brendon looked away, glancing at Ryan, who offered a wan smile. He didn’t have the energy to hate Brendon right now. And Brendon had just saved his life. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

‘You okay?’ Brendon mouthed. Ryan shrugged, not knowing what else to do. He was far from okay – but in a survival situation ‘still alive’ was the closest he was going to get.

They all took a few moments getting their breath back, and then Pete took charge.

‘I think our best chance of survival is getting out of the city.’

_Typical Matt,_ Ryan thought. The second he was in he wanted out again. No one would dare point this out though.

‘Just for tonight at least,’ Pete continued. ‘There are fewer zombies in the forest. I say we go there, make camp and figure out our game plan. Once we’ve worked out a strategy and got everyone a weapon, we can come back.’

‘You make it sound so easy,’ Patrick muttered, rolling his eyes the tiniest bit. Pete pointed an accusing finger at him. 

‘You’re not allowed arguing with me anymore!’

‘Well, someone has to question you. You act like an expert, but you don’t know anymore about this stuff than us.’

‘Someone has to take charge.’

‘Yeah, okay. But maybe it should be someone who isn’t totally winging it.’

The warmth behind the hug Pete and Patrick had first shared had made Ryan wonder if there had ever been anything romantic between them. Now they were bickering like brothers. It was refreshing actually; to see someone not treating Pete with as much awe and respect as he often thought he deserved.

‘Does anyone know the best way out of the city?’ Pete asked, ignoring Patrick’s comment. Jon nodded.

‘Me, Spence and Patrick know a few. Depends if you want to get there fast, or if you want to get there unseen.’

‘Hang on,’ Patrick said. ‘There’s no point in us leaving the city – we don’t have any supplies. We’ll have to do a round trip.’

‘A round trip to where?’ Pete asked doubtfully.

‘We’ve got a store,’ Spencer interjected. ‘We’ve been stashing food there for emergency situations. We’ve got stuff for lighting a fire and sleeping bags, and all that’s necessary for surviving.’

‘How far is it?’

‘A mile, maybe, from here. I reckon a two mile round trip back to the city border.’

‘Right, fine,’ Pete said, nodding. ‘We should go now then, before it gets dark.’

Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but Brendon spoke for him.

‘Ryan can’t walk that far.’

Pete glanced down at Ryan slumped against the wall, as if seeing him for the first time. He frowned and looked back at Brendon.

‘Sure he can. He’s just tired.’

Ryan couldn’t believe it. Pete was still in complete denial about the fact Ryan was dying. It was almost sweet. But Brendon unfortunately was right – Ryan couldn’t walk two miles. He wasn’t even sure if he would live that long.

‘You go get supplies,’ Brendon said firmly, ignoring Pete’s frown. ‘I’ll stay with him, and we’ll meet you at the edge of the city.’

‘No -’ Pete started, but Patrick interrupted.

‘Why not? It’s a longer way to the supply store. We’re safer in numbers. And we can’t have anyone slowing us down.’

‘Do you still remember the way we showed you?’ Jon asked Brendon. ‘The quickest way out of here?’

Brendon nodded sincerely. Jon, Patrick and Spencer all turned to Pete expectantly.

‘That makes sense then, right?’

Pete had no choice but to agree, but Ryan could tell he wasn’t happy about it. It was funny that after all that time when Ryan had been the one telling Pete Brendon wasn’t trustworthy, Pete hadn’t listened. But now he seemed nervous.

‘Fine,’ Pete said, and he gave Brendon a long look. ‘Just you look after him, okay?’

‘Cross my heart,’ Brendon said. Pete didn’t respond, but leaned down and took Ryan’s arm, helping him to his feet. When they were both standing, Pete put his arms around Ryan briefly.

‘See you when we get back.’

‘See you,’ Ryan echoed, just as casually, though there was a lump in his throat. He’d felt so numb for so long, it was just hitting him for the first time that this really might be it. He might be dead before he saw Pete again.

But there was no time for long goodbyes. They weren’t safe, and within moments he was watching Pete and the others vanish round the corner of the street. Ryan found himself swaying slightly, and without thinking, he grabbed Brendon’s arm for support. Immediately Brendon took hold of both his arms and turned so they were facing each other.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Brendon said.

Ryan shook his head. ‘It’s fine,’ he mumbled. ‘There’s no point, Brendon… there’s nothing to say…’

Ryan was aware he wasn’t making that much sense – but he meant it. There was no point in apologising. He somehow couldn’t make himself blame Brendon for what he’d done – not when he knew himself how strange and confusing and lonely it was to be what he was.

‘It’s okay,’ Ryan managed, and he smiled faintly. Brendon smiled back, and then without another word he leant in and kissed Ryan. Ryan didn’t remind him that they should get out of the open as quickly as possible. He didn’t think about the others venturing out into the unknown. He didn’t think about the fact that his first kiss with Brendon had been a death sentence. He didn’t care. He realised then that Brendon was the only person who could take him completely out of his own depressing reality. It was like falling into a dream – and everything that was normally important faded away and lost meaning. Nothing mattered except the moment that was happening right then. Nothing mattered except that kiss. 

And then Brendon’s hands slid from Ryan’s shoulders to his forearms, and the sharp pain of the bite brought Ryan abruptly back to reality. He flinched and pulled away.

‘What? What did I do?’ 

‘Nothing, _you_ didn’t do anything. I’m fine,’ Ryan said, but he couldn’t stop Brendon rolling his sleeve up. He was much gentler than Jon, and Ryan barely felt it.

‘Jesus…’ Brendon breathed. ‘That looks… bad.’

‘Yeah,’ Ryan said flatly. He wanted to ignore it, not have to think about the whole zombie situation. It just made him feel resentful. ‘Not that is matters, right? I’m a dead man anyway.’

Brendon flinched, and Ryan felt bad. He hadn’t meant to guilt-trip him, but he didn’t know how to explain that so he sounded sincere. He couldn’t seem to bring any sort of emotion into his voice anymore.

‘I just thought we’d have more time,’ Brendon said carefully. He rolled Ryan’s sleeve back down. ‘Never mind, we’ll have to make do. Come on, we should go.’

Ryan wanted to ask him something, but couldn’t figure out what it was. Brendon’s words seemed weighted, as if he meant more than he was saying. But then, Ryan was used to him keeping secrets. So he kept quiet. Brendon held his hand, and Ryan already felt so light-headed and weak that the companionable grip had no noticeable effect on him. It was nice. He could do with the physical support.

So hands linked, they headed back onto the city streets.

*  
Ryan couldn’t stand the quietness. He and Brendon wandered the strangely empty streets of the city for over an hour, and it was almost a relief the few times they stumbled across a zombie. Brendon made no attempt to fight them. He’d just grab Ryan’s hand and dodge down the nearest side-street until they were safe again. 

‘We’ve had to take a bit of a detour,’ Brendon kept saying, every time they ran away. But after what seemed like hours of wandering, while the sky above grew darker, Ryan began to realise Brendon wasn’t taking him to the edge of the city. He didn’t know why, but whatever they were doing, he couldn’t go on any longer. 

Brendon had been sparing with his words, and the endless silence had becoming a deafening ringing in Ryan’s ears. His entire body was somehow numb – and the only think he could feel with any clarity was the zombie bite, which burned unbearably under his sleeve. As evening closed in the pain overwhelmed him, and he drew to a sudden halt.

‘Brendon, I can’t walk anymore,’ he groaned, leaning on the cold stone wall of the abandoned building to their right. It was a towering apartment block, shielding them from the fading sun and making the air seem colder and darker than ever.

‘Okay,’ Brendon said calmly, and he let go of Ryan’s hand. ‘I guess this is it.’

‘What does that mean?’ Ryan asked, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He knew what it meant. But he didn’t want to think about it.

‘Ryan, there’s something I should tell you,’ Brendon said carefully. He kept a few feet between them, looking at the ground.

‘Okay.’ Ryan had nothing left to lose, yet he still felt nervous at Brendon’s words. Whatever confession he was about to hear, Brendon didn’t have long to make it. Ryan could sense his body giving up on him.

‘In the movies they never show you how it starts,’ Brendon said slowly, and Ryan wondered, with growing panic, if he was going to make it to the end of this story.

‘They never seem to show you how the zombies first come into being – only what kind of destruction they cause. You just have to assume that somewhere some experiment goes wrong, or some supernatural force comes into play, or some biological anomaly appears out of nowhere.’ Brendon paused, biting his lip. ‘That third one seems the most likely, doesn’t it? That’s what I always thought.’

‘Brendon,’ Ryan interrupted, voice fading. His cold dread had become almost palpable within him. There was what felt like a shard of ice stabbed into his stomach, and as Brendon talked, the cold spread quickly throughout him. This was really it. The end. ‘Brendon… Brendon, I don’t understand…’

‘I’m sorry…’ Brendon said. He seemed suddenly shaken, alarmed. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault…’

‘It’s okay,’ Ryan managed. ‘It’s – okay – I forgive you…’

‘You don’t understand!’ Brendon snapped. ‘It’s not just you. You’re not the only one!’

Ryan couldn’t respond. The cold had almost spread to his head, and once it did he knew there would be no comprehending what Brendon was saying. So he stayed quiet, waiting.

‘All of this is my fault,’ Brendon said solemnly, composing himself again. He’d obviously thought about his next words very carefully. ‘Ryan, what you have to understand is… Every apocalypse has to have a patient zero. And… in this case it’s me.’

Ryan never got a chance to answer. The cold numbness spread to his brain, obliterating very single rational thought he could have. Then a familiar feeling swept over him; a feeling of hunger and desire, and he found himself lunging toward the figure in front of him, pushed by a need to just… _eat._

But he didn’t get a chance. Suddenly his vision blacked out, and his legs gave way, and he found himself falling down into abrupt darkness. 

There was both an eternity and only a few seconds of the nothingness. Then it was awake, the creature was alive – though it didn’t sleep and it didn’t really die. It felt something deep inside it, stirring its limbs into action, and soon it was crawling upwards, seeing buildings and dark sky, and a silhouette standing above.

The creature could see that the thing was not so different from it in appearance, but it’s veins ran with life, and its heart was still beating. The creature took a few stumbling steps forward, and the figure, pale and frightened looking, just stood there, waiting.

The creature’s arms reached out, and it clung onto the warm sturdiness of the figure on the street – who flinched but did not move. The creature drew its face closer, and without looking it found its teeth sinking into soft flesh, and feeling thick warm blood glide down its throat. It was the only time the creature felt truly alive. The aching cold left it’s dead bones, and it clung on, feeling a half-remembered sensation… something akin to joy, satisfaction, purpose. 

Then the figure, the human one, let out a gasping choking noise and pulled away from the creature, leaving torn flesh between its teeth. The warmth instantly evaporated and the meat turned sour in the creature’s mouth, and suddenly all desire left it. And the figure standing on the street, crying out and clutching its neck made the creature feel strange and unsettled.

_Feel?_

_I don’t feel._

_I don’t feel anything._

_Let alone guilt._

_And yet…_

Then just as it had happened before, the creature’s legs gave way again and it collapsed onto the hard street. The figure winced and fell to his knees. Then he, it, the one called Brendon crawled forward and wrapped his arms around the one who knew his name was Ryan, as his skin prickled and his vision swirled. Then it all went dark once again.


End file.
